The pony seemed to understand every word. She whinnied then shot forward out of the buffalo paths. She leapt through the tall grass, acting like she was part antelope.
“Let us fly like the eagle, pony,” Swift Hawk shouted above the noise. “We must find some low ground quickly. You must look for it. I must look for it. Together we will find it.”
With no further urging, the little mustang raced eastward, bounding over the grasses, vines and snags, the wind constantly beneath her hooves.
“Pony, do you see that bluff up ahead of us?” shouted Swift Hawk. “By its side is a creek, which cuts into the ground. It will give us protection. Ride there, my friend. Ride there.”
The pony strained, and Angelia saw that the pony’s mouth was foaming. But the rugged animal did not give up. Onward she struggled.
Suddenly the ridge was there. Just one leap, one more, and they were standing at the edge of a narrow ravine. Below, Angelia could see a creek, with its waters raging and white-capped under the influence of the winds.
Without wasting a moment, Swift Hawk urged his pony to cut a path into the chasm, prodding the animal down into it. But the pony needed no such goading, the animal picking a trail that allowed a gradual descent.
Even in this little valley, Angelia noticed that the trees and the shrubs were bent over double. But there was one cottonwood tree next to the creek, and it appeared to be holding fast, though it too was losing many branches to the raging storm.
As soon as they reached bottom, Swift Hawk jumped to his feet, set his weapons to the side and hauled Angelia to the ground in one swift movement, and drawing the trade-blanket and his buffalo robe from the pony, he hauled them over them both, the robes giving them shelter. Pulling her into his arms, they awaited the tornado.
Chest to chest, skin to skin, they sat. Angelia was shivering, and Swift Hawk’s hands were moving up and down her torso to warm her. Winds rushed at them, branches fell around them, some minor ones hitting their shelter, and always, the roaring of the howling winds threatened. A crash of lightning shattered into the ground, seemingly right into their little shelter, and Angelia jumped closer to Swift Hawk.
On and on it went, the winds reaching a deafening pitch. She shut her eyes, bent her head into Swift Hawk’s shoulder, and prayed.
Then as suddenly as it had come, the storm moved on. Angelia could hear the wind literally roaring past them. Even the next strike of lightning sounded farther away.
Dust, however, continued to fly everywhere, and for the moment, both she and Swift Hawk stayed beneath their tiny shelter. But Angelia would have been very naïve, indeed, had she thought the storm was finished. Still the winds howled above them.
“Are you all right?” asked Swift Hawk, setting her slightly away from him.
She nodded.
“E-peva’e.That is good. Prepare yourself. I must take this shelter away from us now and make a stronger refuge before it is too late. I fear there is not a moment to lose.”
Again she nodded.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Quick as the rushing wind, he jumped up to his feet, and taking the blanket and robe from around them, he set to work.
“I must carve out some holds against this canyon wall. While I do that, I will need you to find me two, maybe three strong sticks about this big…” he measured about three feet with his hands, “…or bigger. Try to find two that are about the same height. Act fast now.”
Rising to her feet, she discovered that embarrassment was a thing of the past, and she, too, worked steadily, sorting through the debris on the ground. A lightning bolt struck somewhere close by, but it was too distant to worry about.
However, the bolt was immediately followed by a drenching rain. No soft shower was this, no gentle sprinkles to announce the coming deluge. No, the downpour came, and it came at once.
Angelia found four sticks about the same size, and one extra stick for good measure, and pressing them to her bosom, she hurried back toward Swift Hawk.
They were both soaked to the skin and barely able to hear one another, let alone see each other through the downpour. Still Swift Hawk said, “You have done well. These will do fine. Come, we must erect a shelter against this canyon wall.” He had carved three holes into the sandstone wall, and taking the buffalo skin and three big stones, secured it to the wall.
After picking up two of the sticks, he drove them into the ground and tied the other end of the robe to them, placing a third stick, one slightly taller, in the middle, so as to gently slope the rain away from them.
“We will get wet,” he said, “but not as wet as we would had we no shelter at all. Now, you must gather some long grass—bunches of it—and hurry before it is too wet.”
She nodded, and scurrying around the canyon, she did exactly that.
Beneath that shelter, the ground was drenched, yet hard, but Swift Hawk quickly softened it, placing the long grasses on top of the firm earth until the floor was covered in a mat of grass.
Over this mat of grass, he set their trade-blanket then motioned Angelia to sit on it.
